In Your Hands
by Caseyrocksmore
Summary: Whatever the reason, Trudy Chacon was a changed woman. A story of faith, survival and overcoming the odds. Trudy/Norm.
1. Instant

_**In Your Hands**_

A life can change in an instant.

Trudy doesn't know when her instant was, but she knows that she sure as hell changed. Maybe it was the first time Norm had looked at her like she was the most precious thing in his world, because she knew he had never looked at anything but science like that before. Maybe it was the time he put aside a sample of new plant material so that he could cuddle with her in one of the few, sparse moments that they were alone, because he told her that her company outweighed the prospects of him gathering new information. Maybe it was the moment she realised her period was more than two weeks late.

Whatever the reason, Trudy Chacon was a changed woman.

Old Trudy, the Trudy-before-Pandora, never liked to apologise. Even as a child, she would refuse to say "I'm sorry," until an adult forced her to. She never apologised for her words, which were often mean or sarcastic. She never apologised for her actions, because she wasn't sorry that she made the decisions that she did. Old Trudy would never have let her dying words be, "Sorry, Jake."

But that was old Trudy. New Trudy felt nothing but guilt when she saw the missile heading for her already damaged Sampson. Her defeated, "Sorry, Jake," were the last words she ever expected to say, even as she desperately grabbed for the re-breather attached to the side-panel of her dash. Maybe it was instinct; her lungs were already burning from the unfiltered Pandora'n atmosphere filling the cabin.

She never had time to do more than that. The missile hit, and then everything was ablaze with light; the engine exploded, and the unexpected momentum propelled her limp body through the front window of her Sampson. Shattered glass tore through the skin of her back and legs, but she only felt the pain of it for a second before a plume of fire and hot ash from the coughing engine cauterised the wounds.

And then, there was just air.

She was flying. The wind was on her face, the sky at her fingertips; with no vehicle to slow her down, no gilder or jetpack, no Sampson keeping her grounded, there was just glorious _air_. Not that she could breathe it, savour the moment in which all her dreams came true. As she plummeted hundreds of feet through the alien sky with the thick foliage fast approaching, it really hit her: this was it. She would be dead in just moments, her spark forever snuffed out.

_At least_, she mused, _I die flying_. Because nothing would have been worse than for her to die grounded, her feet planted firmly on the floor. Trudy had been born to fly, born to reach higher than reality would allow her to touch. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the wind on her face, not allowing herself to gauge how much time she had left. Mere moments that she didn't want to spend calculating, worrying about what was next.

When she had joked to Jake about martyrdom, she hadn't seriously considered it an option. But now, with everything free and open to her, she understood. If this was the price to pay for the Na'vi to live in peace, then she would pay it gladly. Trudy had always stood up for what she believed in. Her death would be just another example of that.

The impact was just as painful as she expected it to be. Her rapid descent was slowed somewhat by the giant leaves of a Pandora'n tree, but each leave only managed to slow her so much. Her battered body shot pain to her brain with every hit, and she began begging for unconsciousness when her foot caught a vine and was jerked away from her body with an ominous _crack_.

She was finally granted her wish for unconsciousness when she saw the ground; her body went limp as she fainted, but she kept a protective arm around her stomach even as she passed out. It has been said that a mother will do anything to protect her child, and it may just be true. Because even though she hadn't confirmed it with a test and she wasn't even sure, and even though Trudy had never imagined herself having children, and even though she had made peace with being a martyr in the grand scheme of this war, she survived.

Broken, burned, bruised, and gasping for oxygen in an alien environment, Trudy Chacon lay unconscious on the forest floor of Pandora, her heart still beating. It was a miracle, and would be described as such by everyone who heard the story; the tiny life inside her womb shifted in her warm cocoon, unaware of the dangerous around her.

A life can change in an instant.


	2. Miracle

_**In Your Hands**_

Trudy's protesting lungs woke her from her less-than-peaceful slumber on the forest floor; with a gasp, she opened her eyes and blinked. She couldn't _breathe_. The toxic alien air burned with every breath she attempted, and her mind began to haze over with confusion. Where was she? What was going on? Where was her re-breather?

The weight in her hand made her turn her head, her eyes desperately scanning the unusual world around her. chlutched between her fingers was the mask she had grabbed for in the moments before the RDA-issued missile had destroyed her Sampson, remarkably intact. With what seemed to be her last-ditch effort at survival, she moved her weak arm and pushed the device to her face, her fingers struggling to press the button that would activate it.

Then, there was oxygen. The haze that obscured her from having complete thoughts faded with every desperate inhale, and she found herself blinking up at the familiar Pandora'n sky, still filled with Ikran and their riders, militia ships being pushed backward in their seemingly never-ending fight.

Trudy closed her eyes, shying away from the sight as a Na'vi was shot mercilessly from his steed, sending the miniscule being tumbling through the air like a ragdoll. With each breath her mind cleared further, and she had enough sense to take note of her injuries, her marine training kicking in.

Her ankle was broken, at the very least. She remembered the sound it made when it had caught on that vine; she shivered at the memory, the pain still fresh and throbbing. Her ribs seemed miraculously unbroken, even after her impact with the unforgiving earth. She couldn't feel her back, and she supposed she might be experiencing some kind of shock. Had she been burned in the explosion? It was impossible to tell.

Trudy's wary eyes scanned her surroundings, her heartbeat quickening at the destruction around her. Ash, hot and thick, covered the once green leaves of every single plant, leaving one indistinguishable from the next. A fire, not twenty feet away, burned at a red-tinted tree-like growth that seemed to curl in upon itself, trying to stop the hot death enveloping it. The surrounding wildlife seemed to shy away from the brilliant flames and heat, trying to get away from their inevitable end as well.

She couldn't help wonder how Quaritch and his minions could think that the forest wasn't alive. _All _of Pandora was alive, interconnected. Now that she had turned on her own kind and joined their 'team,' in a way, she felt connected to this place too, and it pained her to see it being tortured like this.

It sort of hit her all at once, while she lay unmoving on the soil, that maybe she hadn't survived. Maybe no one would find her before night fell and hypothermia set in. Maybe she would survive the night, only to run out of air filters and suffocate. Maybe the scavengers would eat her alive.

She shivered, and the small movement shot pain from her ankle up her leg. She would have screamed, but she couldn't make sound come out of her mouth. She coughed, and the resulting burning in her chest brought painful tears to her eyes.

The unexplained _anger_ she felt at being trapped here, unable to move, unable to save herself, brought her to the brink of tears several times in the next few hours. The sky was bare of flying creatures by then, and her resolve was slowly breaking.

_Come on, Trudy, eyes open,_ she kept telling herself, because the moment she fell asleep, she might not wake up. _For Norm, Trudy, stay alive for Norm. He won't make it without you_. A blatant lie to herself, and she knew it. Norm would be fine without her. He had been fine before her. But she couldn't help but hold onto the hope that he loved her as much as she loved him.

* * *

"_Sometimes," Norm confided in her seriously one lazy afternoon, his exopack pulsing oxygen to his lungs as they sat on the edge of the floating rock that was Site 26, "I wish my mother could see this." He gestured to the glorious landscape; mountains with no bottom stretched above and below them, waterfalls leading to nowhere pouring out into the sky, glittering rock and clouds as far as the eye could see._

"_You could just send her a postcard," Trudy jokingly retorted, nudging his shoulder playfully. Whilst Jake and Grace had been immersed in their work with the Na'vi, she and Norm had grown closer. Since he only had to use his Avatar for long trips into the forest for the purpose collecting samples now, he was more often than not working diligently on their computer, or on his many scattered notes around the base. _

_She wouldn't have thought a girl like her could befriend a guy like Norm. He was her opposite, constantly over thinking and rethinking every move he made, every decision, every pencil mark on his work; she, on the other hand, often flew by the seat of her pants, acted without considering the outcome, danced out of the Grim Reaper's clutches on the tips of her toes. And yet, ever since day one, something had clicked._

"_I would, if she were alive." He turned to her, a sad smile on his face. "She was a scientist too, you know. She would have absolutely adored this place." He turned back to the scenery, and Trudy swore she could see the gears turning at the back of his mind as he pondered the things around him. "She was going an experimental expedition to the moon, Earth's moon, but the fuel she had developed for their ship..." He shrugged. "Didn't work out so well."_

_Trudy automatically reached out and took his hand. He smiled at her, and she could almost hear his heart thudding nervously in his chest. __"I'm so sorry," she said honestly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. It was the first time she had apologised for something completely out of her control. It would not be the last._

* * *

Guilt flooded her, and she had to try monumentally hard not to cry. And Trudy Chacon. Did. Not. Cry. _Ever_.

She couldn't help but think about how selfish she had been. She had risked her life, knowing (or, at the very least, suspecting) that she was pregnant. Norm would absolutely hate her, even if she made it out of this situation alive. She had risked the life of not only herself, but their baby, for the good of the People. As honourable a cause as that was, she couldn't see Norm seeing it that way. He found all life precious, but his own flesh and blood...

She couldn't help the sob that wracked her body. She _had_ to make it out of this, for her son or daughter's sake... for _Norm_'s son or daughter's sake.

As far as she could tell, she hadn't miscarried. She hadn't been hit anywhere near her abdomen, and she still felt that little queasy sensation she had been experiencing all week. Good signs, she hoped.

When night began to fall, and the glorious Pandora'n sun began to set behind Polyphemus, she prayed. Trudy had never considered herself a religious person— hell, she'd never even given a thought to whatever God might be out there, if there even was one— but she sent out her thoughts anyway, closing her eyes and slowly drifting to sleep with only one thing on her mind: the survival of Norm's baby.

Unbeknownst to her, a soft light flickered near the edge of the clearing, even after the fires had burned themselves out. A soft, pure creature, known as an _Atokirina_ by the Na'vi, floated nearer to her, eventually settling itself on her stomach, its softly glowing tendrils gently caressing above where a life form was just beginning to grow. The Atokirina had been leading searchers to survivors all day, and it was not long after she had settled herself to wait with the human that a Na'vi warrior who was part of the search party happened upon the clearing.

Sometimes, miracles happen. All you have to do is ask for them.


	3. Effort

_**In Your Hands**_

Sometimes, it takes the efforts of many to save the few.

Dar'mok cradled the broken human in his arms, his eyes roaming over her numerous injuries. An Atokirina, a sacred seed from the Tree of Souls, guarded her as he remounted his Pa'li swiftly, being careful not to jostle his burden.

"_I will return you to your people, brave machine-flier_," he said quickly in his own tongue, hoping to bring her comfort, though he doubted she could understand Na'vi. "_You will be healed there, and you will see light again._"

Dar'mok made it back to Hell's Gate just before sunrise, his riding slow and smooth as he tried not to injure the human further. Jahlad, barely a teenager in even the best respects, was set to guard the base from intruders while the rest of the Na'vi who had returned from searching were in the fenced-in back gardens of the base, using the space as a makeshift hospital to treat the wounded. When he saw Dar'mok and his passenger, Jahlad was instantly at his side, helping lift the smaller being from the Dar'mok's arms.

"_The machine-flier?_" Jahlad questioned, recognising the pilot's face as a friend of their new Toruk Makto.

"_Yes,_" Dar'mok agreed. "_Careful! She is very delicate._"

The unconscious pilot was carried into the airlock by the two Na'vi, and was placed on a waiting gurney. As soon as she was settled and the Na'vi had exited, the atmosphere within the airlock was converted to oxygen-based air so that two waiting doctors could enter. They rushed to attend to her, automatically seeing the severity of her injuries.

Dar'mok and Jahlad watched from outside the Plexiglas doors as their charge was hurried away into the facility to receive the medical treatment she required. Their honey-coloured eyes followed the gurney until it was out of sight.

"_Farewell, brave machine-flier_," Dar'mok murmured in Na'vi, bowing his head slightly, "_May Eywa bless your soul_." Jahlad silently agreed, sending the fragile human his own prayer before returning to his post.

* * *

"Third and second degree burns—"

"At least forty per cent of her body—"

"Broken ankle... set that before she loses it, Stevens!"

A mask of pure oxygen had replaced Trudy's re-breather and an IV dripped saline into her arm as the doctors surrounding her worked feverishly to repair the damage the crash had done to her.

"Prep an ultrasound to check for internal bleeding," Dr. Stevens demanded as he worked to splint her broken ankle, wincing as the exposed bone was popped back into its place. Trudy made a noise of pain and shifted, coming to the brink of consciousness and flinging her arms around in confusion and terror, trying desperately to protect herself from the onslaught of pain.

"Sedate her!" Dr. Cornelson yelled, gripping one of her thrashing arms tightly, "Before she injures herself further!"

A near-by nurse quickly added a sedative to Trudy's IV, and her violent, jerky movements ceased. Dr. Stevens sighed in relief, wiping his brow before taking the offered ultrasound wand from the nurse and pressing it gingerly against his patient's stomach. With each heartbeat, the screen showed a moving picture of her insides.

"I don't see any internal bleeding," he said, pushing the wand a little harder when he spotted something unusual. "Jesus Christ."

Dr. Cornelson looked up from where he was carefully extracting small pieces of glass from one of her shins, frowning worriedly. "What is it?"

"She's _pregnant_," he determined, freezing the picture on the screen so that the miniscule blip in her abdomen was clearly visible on it. "Maybe a month along." He shook his head. "God only knows how she didn't lose it from the trauma."

Dr. Cornelson let out a low whistle. "Think she knew and still went out into that hell-hole?" he asked, pulling a jagged piece of metal from her thigh and dropping it into the bowl in his lap. Dr. Stevens shrugged, examining her nearly untouched stomach.

"It's a miracle she hasn't miscarried," he said, shaking his head again. "What with all those burns on her back—" He paused, grabbing a pair of tweezers to assist his colleague in removing the tiny fragments of glass and metal imbedded in her fragile skin. "We're going to have to start growing her some new skin to replace the burned areas, so grab a DNA sample after you clean out those cuts."

The doctors had several scares through the morning, having to stop their cleaning of her wounds to stabilize her breathing and heartbeat. Her lungs were weak, having been exposed to the Pandora'n air for more than a minute or two, which to most would have been nearly instantly fatal. Trudy, however, was a fighter. She wasn't going to let a lack of oxygen bring her down.

"We have to get her information from her," Dr. Stevens said once she was once again stable, just before noon. "And we have to... give her the options regarding her pregnancy."

Dr. Cornelson sighed, slowly reducing the amount of sedative she was receiving. "She's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when she wakes up," he said, swallowing hard. "She might not even be lucid. We don't have any data on the prolonged exposure to the elements— she could be brain-damaged, for all we know."

"I am aware of those possibilities."

"And giving her morphine could be detrimental to the baby's health, correct?"

"Correct."

"So we can't give her any drugs without her permission and consent." Cornelson sighed, looking back on the tiny-looking woman curled up on the make-shift hospital bed, her bruises standing out against the paleness of her skin and the whiteness of her sheets. "She's going to feel it all, isn't she?"

"Afraid so." Stevens frowned, studying his patient carefully. "Poor girl."

* * *

**A/N - Major props to anyone who can spot my Star Trek TNG reference. **


	4. Hell

_**In Your Hands**_

_Is this heaven?_ Was one of the first half-lucid thoughts that crossed Trudy's mind as her sedative wore off. A bright white light was burning through her eyelids, which was what brought her to this conclusion. She moved a fraction, and make a startled sound at the back of her throat.

_No, this is _hell_. Shit! _A stab of pain shot from her back up her spine, each vertebrae seeming to ache individually.

"Miss Chacon?"

One of her eyes was peeled open against her will, and an even brighter light crossed back and forth in front of it, effectively blinding her.

"Good pupil reaction," a deep, male voice commented, and then her eyelid was released and shut again, shying away from the light. "Miss Chacon, can you hear me?"

"No," she as sarcastically as she could. After a moment, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking several times to get used to the light. Obviously, this was neither heaven nor hell. The kind face of Dr. Cornelson hovering over her told her that. His white lab coat, sterile white paper mask and name tag identified him as _doctor_, so she let herself close her eyes again, taking a deep (but painful) breath.

"So, how badly banged up am I?" she croaked, her voice rough and gravelly. Her lungs burned, and her throat felt drier than the freakin' Sahara desert. Dr. Cornelson gave a relieved little chuckle, sighing slightly and turning it into a cough.

"Pretty bad, I'm afraid," he said seriously, and Trudy internally winced at his tone of voice. _That_ bad, huh? "You have severe burns over you lumbar and thoracic regions, and your lungs show damage from the diphosgene in the atmosphere."

Trudy opened her eyes to glare at him. "English, please, Doc?" she whispered, her throat protesting at the strain.

"The explosion burned your back, and your lungs are messed up from the bad air," he translated, looking at her with sympathy. "Also, you are about a month pregnant." He cleared his throat. "I know you must be in a lot of pain right now—"

Trudy scoffed, but immediately regretted it. _Lay still_, she told herself.

"—but we can't give you much for the pain until we discuss the... options available to you."

When she didn't say anything, Dr. Cornelson rubbed his neck anxiously. "Obviously, you are hardly in the right position to... _be _pregnant right now. You're in for a long recovery— skin and tissue replacement, reconstructive surgery, as well as physical therapy, if the need be. It is therefore an option if you wish to—"

"No."

Dr. Cornelson let out a long breath. "But Miss Chacon, you have to consider that—"

"_No_." She reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, curling her fingers in the fabric. "You... are _not_... killing his baby." She let go of his shirt and let her hand drop back to the mattress, a heavy feeling at the back of her mind.

"You are at a high risk for miscarriage right now," Dr. Cornelson told her honestly, "And we don't even know if the baby is healthy. There haven't been any studies regarding pregnant women being exposed to the chemicals that you undoubtedly were exposed to— and you could be risking yourself further injury."

Trudy shifted and whimpered, her still-dirty fingernails clawing at the white sheets as she tried not to scream. "I... want to... see Norm... right _now_," she said through clenched teeth. Dr. Cornelson gave her an odd look, raising one of his thin eyebrows delicately.

"Norm...?"

"Spellman."

Dr. Cornelson pressed a button on the wall, ordering the nurse outside of the sterile environment to find Norm Spellman. He turned back to his patient, only to find her unconscious once more. Sighing, he picked up her chart and flipped through it, peeling off his mask as he exited the room.

"Keep watch on her," he told one of the many volunteers who were helping in the makeshift rescue operation. There had been forty more injured Na'vi and a dozen more humans brought in within the last few hours, and he was still on rounds. Most of the humans were being patched up and prepared to be sent on their way, the evacuation of the base having already been planned and prepped for, but obviously Chacon was a special case. She was on the good guys' side, along with all the scientists, doctors and their families, and would be permitted to stay on Pandora, as per agreement with the natives.

Lab techs were already diligently replicating her DNA and making the skin she would need for the burned lumbar and thoracic regions of her back, but it would take days for it to be ready for transplant. She would have until then to make her decision regarding the baby, Cornelson decided, snapping off his latex gloves and tossing them in the nearest disposal unit as he passed, still thumbing through her medical records. She and the father needed to have a long discussion about what would be best in the long run.

* * *

Norm had been working diligently on organising the evacuation efforts since the end of the battle, once he had been declared perfectly healthy by Max, and though it could be argued that Max wasn't a medical doctor, he still had quite a bit of knowledge in the field of human anatomy and genome. He refused to let himself think about the things he had seen and heard in the last forty-eight hours, or the people who had died.

Grace and Trudy were constantly pushing into his subconscious, and several times when he almost nodded off, he would jerk his head up only to realise that he _hadn't_ heard one of their voices calling for him to get back to work, or laughing at his drowsiness. In these moments, his heart would thud against the inside of his chest and he would fight the urge to weep for his fallen loved ones. _Now is not the time,_ he kept reminding himself. _Now, there is work to be done._

There were a great number of other people who could have been doing the menial work he was compelling himself to finish; writing logs, signing supply sheets, organising requisition forms and equipment checks and fuel statuses. He just needed to keep his mind busy, or else it would wander, and he would break down.

The love of his life was dead. He couldn't deal. There was a huge part of him that kept saying, "_No, she's alive. Trudy made it. She's out there. She just needs you to go out there and find her,_" but the more rational part of his brain replayed the moment he saw Samson 16 explode, sending down a rain of fire and molten metal, a sight that made him shiver and gasp with terror.

And so he immersed himself in the work, trying to forget those images, and how they made his heart break over and over. He didn't want to hear anything about the battle, he didn't want news on the recovery of bodies and injured, he didn't want comfort— he wanted to forget everything that had happened.

How the hell else was he supposed to react?

A nurse, looking overworked dressed in wrinkled scrubs with her hair in a messy bun, had her nose buried in a data-pad as she entered the lab. It had been set up as temporary head-quarters, because no one was willing to venture into the military's meeting rooms yet. Norm didn't even look up from the stack of forms he was filling out (on _paper_, nonetheless) as she walked up behind him.

"Dr. Spellman?" she inquired, and he finally raised his head to look at her. He knew he probably looked like a mess; he hadn't slept, so he'd have bags under his eyes, and his hair was sticking up in a weird way and having his hands run through it many times.

She was young, pretty thing, with big brown eyes and dark hair. His chest ached, just from the thought of who else had brown eyes and dark hair. He managed to compose himself, however, and sat up a little straighter to address her.

"Yes. What— erm, what's wrong down at medical _now_?" He tried to sound witty and sarcastic like Trudy would have, but it just ended up being a lame parody.

"Nothing, Doctor. One of the patients said she wants to see you," she said, glancing down at the data-pad in her hands, "Trudy Chacon?"

Norm's heart literally skipped a beat. He jumped from his seat, his eyes wild. "She's _alive_?" he asked, though it sounded more like begging. _Please be true, please be true, please be true._

"Yes. She was brought in with severe burns and—"

Norm was already gone, hurdling down the corridor like a 100-meter dash medalist, his face awash with an insurmountable number of emotions as his brain raced to catch up.

Included in this were looks of surprise, — How had she _survived _that? The thing went up in a freaking _fireball!_ – fury, – How could he have not checked to see if she had been brought into the hospital? – fear, – How badly had she been injured? – hatred, – Quaritch had better be glad he was already dead, or else Norm would've killed him himself. – and hope – Trudy was _alive_.

The automatic doors _whooshed_ out of his way as he barrelled into medical, his eyes ablaze. He went up to the first group medical personnel he saw and demanded they bring him to Trudy. Dr. Stevens happened to be among them, and took him by the shoulder and led the panting man away towards the ICU.

"So, you're the father, I'm assuming?"

"I— no, I'm her boyfriend," he said, the words not really sinking in. Why would he think Norm was Trudy's father? He was just over a year _younger_ than her. "I don't really— what happened? Is she okay?"

Dr. Stevens gently filled him in on the severity of her injuries, and the treatments that would be required for her to make a full recovery. "We're hoping for the best," he assured Norm, "And we're doing everything we can."

He gave the distraught scientist a mask and made him wash his hands and don a protective gown over his dishevelled clothes. "For her protection," he explained, helping Norm do up the ties at the back of the gown, "We don't want to risk infection, because of her burns."

Norm simply nodded. When he finally saw her— his Trudy, alive and breathing— he had to stop himself from throwing himself on her and sobbing. _She's fragile_, he reminded himself, slowly approaching the hospital bed. He kept staring at her, not wanting to blink or look away for fear that this was all an illusion, a dream he had fallen into in the middle of his work, and that she would just disappear. He reached out a shaky hand and touched her arm, staring at her face. Her eyes moved restlessly beneath her eyelids, her mouth turned downward in a frown, but she was breathing. The moving line on the screen above her head that was monitoring her heartbeat assured him of that.

He gently took her hand, noticing for the first time how small it was compared to his own.

The next few hours, as Norm sat by his lover's bedside and waited for her to awaken, were hell for the good-hearted genius. Every time she moved, his heart would race and he would study her face, praying for a sign of consciousness— but then she would just lay still again, her breathing shallow and uneven. Several times doctors would come in to check on her, make note of her IV or her blood pressure or her heartbeat. They would all shoot him sympathetic looks, because he had the appearance of a man who hadn't slept in years, even though it had only been a number of hours.

He diligently held her hand, refusing to move when Dr. Cornelson suggested he go get something to eat or take a nap— that they would get him if she woke up again before he returned.

"No," he said, reaching out to tuck a lock of brown hair behind her ear softly. "I want to be here when she wakes up."

And he would be.


	5. Unknown

_**In Your Hands**_

Trudy opened her eyes, acutely aware of a warm weight pushing down on her wrist. She turned her head slowly, moving as little as possible, to look at what was causing the strange feeling.

Norm was sleeping. His chin was resting on one fist, and his other hand was resting on her smaller one, pinning it to the mattress. He looked more tired and older than she remembered, even as he slept— war will do that to you, Trudy reminded herself. She turns her hand over, gently squeezing his hand, and his calloused fingers wrapped around her own as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep. She watched him sleep awhile, reflecting on how different things were now.

When Trudy had first suspected that she was pregnant, a thousand thoughts had rushed into her brain. Would they raise it here? Pandora wasn't exactly the safest place for small children to grow up. Would Norm want to return to Earth and raise it there? Well, that wasn't even an option anymore, since they had turned on their own species and joined forces with the Na'vi. How many other children were there living on the Base? Six total, from a couple of the married scientists on the Base. All of them would be much older than their baby, since the youngest child was already close to four.

Norm shifted in his sleep, his chin falling off its perch on his fist. He sat up, startled awake, and blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings. Rubbing a hand across his reddened eyes, he looked down and jumped in surprise as he met Trudy's eyes.

"Trudy!" he said loudly, and she winced at the sudden noise. "Sorry." He lowered his voice to a near-whisper, leaning down close to her face. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," she whispered back, trying to ignore the insistent burning at the back of her throat. She cracked a smile, trying to ease his nervousness, but it was a pained smile, and he noticed it instantly, frowning.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, gently squeezing her hand, being careful not to hurt her. "Do you need me to get a doctor so he can give you more morphine? Your last dose is probably wearing off..." Norm moved to stand up without waiting for an answer, but Trudy gripped his hand tighter to stop him.

"_Norm_," she said as sternly as she could manage, giving him a Trudy-Glare-of-Death. He stopped, frowning at her in confusion.

"What's wrong, Tru?" He sat back down in the uncomfortable fold-up chair at her side, unsure of what to do. Trudy rolled her eyes at the ridiculous nickname, but decided to let it slide this time. There were more important things at hand.

"I'm not... _taking_ any morphine, Norm."

His brow furrowed in that cute way it did when he was confused. He had worn that same look after the first time she playfully suggested that they should 'hook up'— back when they were just friends, and she hadn't been serious.

"I don't— why not? Are they giving you something else?"

Trudy shook her head, gritting her teeth. "No, Norm." He looked scandalised, like she had just told him that she was secretly sleeping with Quaritch, or something equally as horrifying.

"Jesus, Tru, are you _insane_? I mean, I know you're all independent and stuff, but no painkillers? Why on Earth would you do something as stupid as—" She dug her nails into his palm to get him to shut up. His endless ranting about her stupidity could be dealt with later. Right now, she had to tell him the truth.

"Norm, it's... not that I don't... _want_ to," she said slowly, licking her chapped lips and trying to find the right words to tell him. _Hey, guess what, you're gonna be a dad_, wasn't going to cut it, and neither was, _oops, I guess we should have taken some precautions, huh?_ She had to ease into it. It was big news, after all. "I just... _can't_."

"What are you talking about?" He was giving her that puppy dog look that was so irritatingly irresistible. "Are you allergic?"

"No, Norm," she whispered, her heart racing. _Just say it already!_

"Then why—?"

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

Norm was a highly intelligent man. It could even be said that he was a genius, considering his IQ was well over 150. He _always_ knew the right thing to say... when it came to science. When it came to relationships, however, he was more clueless than his Uncle Robert— who ran an old motor car garage on Earth, and he hadn't seen a motor car (besides those old-fashioned collectables that went for ninety grand in auction and were showed off at car shows) in half a century.

His and Trudy's friendship and been easy, normal. Norm felt for the first time in his life like someone completely and utterly accepted him— and not just as the science geek who would do their homework for ten bucks. She loved his quirky jokes, his love of old comic books and movies, and even his tendency to talk in code to himself. She thought each of the odd little qualities were cute, and never failed to point it out.

It was one of the things he loved about her.

Before Pandora, Norm would never have imagined that he would be able to have a romantic relationship with such a beautiful woman. The beautiful married the beautiful and had beautiful little babies. It was just a fact of life. Before Pandora, Norm had made peace that he might, one day, find a girl who wasn't repulsed by him. She would be average-looking, because he was average-looking, and they would have average-looking kids.

But that was before Pandora.

Trudy was different. She didn't care that he spent most of his time thinking about native Pandora'n plants. She didn't mind that he had very little expertise in the area of romantic interactions. She liked him in all his geeky glory. And he loved everything about her.

And so, they had begun their little impromptu courting. They were often left to their own devices when Jake and Grace were in their Avatar bodies, and that lead to long conversations, flying lessons, make-out sessions... among other things. Jake had even caught them in the act of one of _these other_ things once, and Trudy had proved to him then that she didn't care who knew about their relationship, which had to be the sexiest thing in the world. She had waved, giggling, and pulled the blanket over their heads. Since they had been found out, so to speak, she began being much less careful about affection in front of the others— she even snuggled with him in his bunk some nights, with one or both of his colleagues in the bunk on the other side of the room.

Norm was a smart man. Add sex into the equation, though, and he became a bumbling idiot, no better than all the other cavemen ran around with their guns, mindlessly following Quaritch's orders. Add a _baby_ into the mix, and his ability to form a coherent thought flew right out of the preverbal window. His brain was blank.

Not just _blank_, but... empty. And Norm Spellman never had an empty mind. It was always cluttered with schematics, analyses, diagrams, flow charts and equations. Even when he and Trudy made love, he was still focussed on _something_, even if it was only the task at hand. Having his mind completely empty was a new experience.

And so he stared at her, uncomprehending, because _surely_, he must have misheard her. She couldn't be pregnant, and it couldn't be _his _if she was, because the beautiful married the beautiful and had beautiful babies. Their little hybrid child didn't fit into the equation. It was an outlier, a mistake on the line graph of life.

"Norm... say something."

He realised that he had been openly gawking at her, and quickly shut his open mouth.

"Mine?" he asked numbly, still seemingly dumbstruck at the idea. Trudy's lip shook, looking devastated.

"Who _else's_... would it be?"

Norm's mind went into overdrive, trying to compensate for his momentary lapse of judgement. Trudy was pregnant. They had been having unprotected sex for months. Of _course_ it was his. Yet she was severely injured. She had been in circumstances that for anyone else could have been fatal, and she wasn't out of the woods yet.

"What are we going to do?" he whispered, his heart racing. "Trudy... what are we going to do?"

"I don't... know," was Trudy's honest answer, closing her eyes and taking a shaky, burning breath. _I don't know._


	6. Promise

_To whom it may concern: I just went back and re-read "Heart." Apparently, there is a scene in my last chapter that is sort of reminiscent of one of the scenes in that fic— but that was _never_ my intention. The similarities are there, but I honestly didn't mean to copy anything from anyone, so if I have offended anyone, I am deeply sorry. Even though it was accidental, let's just call it a tribute, because "Heart" was an amazing piece of fanfiction, and one of the ones that made me love Trudy/Norm. I guess that scene just got stuck in my subconscious or whatever. I didn't mean to sound like a copycat. Honest. _

* * *

_**In Your Hands**_

"He said to drink _slowly_, Trudy," Norm scolded as he held the small plastic cup to her face, the straw aimed at her mouth. Trudy was trying very hard to drink slowly, but she felt like she hadn't drunk anything for _years_. Swallowing the cool liquid was difficult and painful at first, but it relieved the ache and burning from her esophagus after a moment.

Dr. Cornelson chuckled, shaking his head. "Careful, Trudy. You don't want to make yourself throw up, do you?"

She was much more careful about drinking slowly after that.

When the cup was empty, Norm took it away and returned it to the doctor, who put it down and made a note on her chart. "Miss Chacon, I think we have quite a bit to discuss, now that you are awake." He paused, putting her chart down on the edge of her bed and taking a seat in the other fold-up chair in the room. "I am aware that you refused to have a therapeutic abortion—"

"No shit," Trudy scoffed, finding it much easier to speak now that the pain in her throat was subdued.

"—even in the event that it should endanger your life. We are not sure yet what kinds of complications that could result from your injuries, and because you are pregnant, we are limited on how we can safely treat you without endangering the fetus."

Norm looked like he was going to throw up. His face had gone a shade paler since their discussion had begun, and he was breathing deeply through his nose as a calming device. Trudy closed her fingers around his shaking ones.

"What are you saying?" Norm asked, his brain working in overdrive. "If she doesn't have an abortion, she's going to _die_?"

"Not exactly," Dr. Cornelson said, shaking his head, "But it puts her at a higher risk for complications. We are recommending that she have the procedure done so as not to risk further—"

"_Procedure_? You're making it sound like a root canal," Trudy groaned, her eyes fluttering closed. "You've already told me this. I haven't changed my mind."

"Trudy, look at me," Norm was begging, his hands still shaking like leaves in the wind. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "You have to think about this. If they need to do it to keep you alive—"

"Then I guess we're both goin' down, because you aren't going to kill her." She directed the latter part of the sentence towards the uncomfortable looking doctor. "You're going to be a doctor, and save _both_ of our lives. Isn't that your job, or something?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Great," Trudy cut him off, turning her head a little and getting comfortable again on her pillow. "Then how about we talk about, oh, I dunno— my _burns_? 'Cause they're pretty important."

Dr. Cornelson was flustered. He'd never had a patient quite so _ferocious_. She had wild, determined eyes, and he wasn't going to risk arguing with _that_ for much longer. "Hem. Right. Burns." He looked to Norm for guidance, but the scientist seemed rather out of it. "The lab said we'll need another twenty-four hours or so to grow new skin for transplant to repair to damage. If the operation goes well, you'll have a six to eight day recovery period in which you will have to stay on bed rest, during which the graft will either take, or it won't. If it doesn't we'll have to try again."

Trudy raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"

"Well... yes."

"Then why the _hell_ do you think I need an abortion? Because you can't give me painkillers if I refuse?" She made a disgruntled noise. "It'll be _months_ before I'm even _showing_, so it's not like you have to worry about my impending expansion until then, and that'll be ages after this whole skin-graft-thing is over with. Are you _all_ idiots here, or is it just _you_?"

The doctor's eyes widened at her accusation. "It's a matter of safety and priority—!"

"Well, the safety of my child is a priority, dammit!" She closed her eyes, sighing. "You know what? Get out. I'm tired of this."

Dr. Cornelson shifted uncomfortably again. "I... alright. I will be back in an hour to check on her vitals," he told Norm, standing and grabbing her chart from its resting place. "Press the button if she needs anything." And then he left, because even lying immobile in a hospital bed, Trudy Chacon was one intimidating woman.

She opened one eye and watched him go, sighing when the door _whooshed_ closed behind him.

"Tru," Norm whispered, gently picking up her hand and holding it to his chest. "You know how much I love you, right?"

The words were like music. A symphony, really. _I love you_. Trudy heard those words so rarely that it felt good to hear them again. Of course, deep down she had always known that Norm loved her— and she loved him more than she'd loved anything before, including flying. Because being with Norm was like flying, and in the strangest way, more like flying than flying was. Being with Norm had set her free, like no machine could ever accomplish.

There had been some unspoken agreement between the two that they wouldn't say it. Trudy wasn't going to be the first to acknowledge that he was her whole world, and he was too scared to be the first to say it, fearing that'd she'd leave if she ever heard the words.

So it was the first time he'd ever told her. It wasn't romantic, and it wasn't like a silver-screen moment— there were no fireworks going off in the background, they weren't on a boat or at the beach, neither of them were in imminent danger, and they weren't about to head off to war (that had been three days ago). It was just a statement of a simple fact, like he had said that moss was green. And maybe that was what made it so meaningful.

"I know," she whispered, pressing her hand over where he held it against his heart.

She hadn't started to cry and sobbed that she loved him too, sitting up and putting herself in unnecessary pain just to kiss him, because real life wasn't a movie. Real life was _so_ much better, and she wasn't going to screw that up so that they could have an unrealistic mushy moment in the middle of a hospital at a military base. Trudy just wasn't that kind of girl.

"Do you love me?" he asked quietly, and there was this adorable, pitiful quality to it that made him resemble a kicked puppy. She licked her chapped lips and smiled at him. He was such a dork.

"Of course I do, you big dope," she grumbled, pulling her hand away from his and lightly swatting his shoulder. "I love you more than I love flying."

His wide-eyed stare was just so _Norm_ that she could have laughed. She could only hope that their baby had expressions that cute.

"That much huh?" he said after a moment, the shocked expression fading into one of smugness. He gave a low whistle, and she chuckled. He turned serious again, seeming to remember what he had been about to say before her declaration of love. "If you love me that much, Trudy, why would you do this to me?"

Her eyebrows came together as she frowned. "What?"

"How could you risk your life for a four-week pregnancy? You're my whole world. I couldn't _do _this without you." The admission seemed to take a lot out of him, like it had been weighing heavily on his shoulders. He seemed suddenly out of breath, like he had just run a mile. "I thought you were _dead_, Trudy, and suddenly, I had no idea what to do with myself. What is my life without you in it?"

He was bordering on heartbreaking, now, with those puppy-dog eyes and that trembling lip. His voice cracked as he tried to explain.

"If they have to, promise me that you'll let them do it. If it comes down to your life or the baby's, promise that you'll let them save you. Please, Trudy. Promise me." When she didn't say anything, he grabbed her hand again. "Trudy, if push comes to shove, we can make another baby. We can't make another _you_." He reached out his other hand and brushed a loose strand of dark hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "Promise me, Trudy. _Please_."

His eyes searched hers for an answer as she thought it over. But it was the heartbroken look in Norm's eyes that made her finally say, "I promise."


	7. Wishes

_**In Your Hands**_

Norm was having trouble coping. There was a part of him who adored Trudy for her selflessness in wanting to keep the baby, no matter the cost; but there was also a part of him who hated her for it, because she was risking her own wellbeing for something that was barely a mass of cells at this point. He'd never had to deal with something so complicated before, never had to make a life-or-death decision.

But he still felt as if his decision had been sound. Even if she lost the child (which would be horrible, no doubt, but still better than if the alternative was her death), they could always make another. They were both young, relatively healthy, and in place where that would be possible. If she died trying to save it, he would lose _everything_. And he'd already lost so much in this damned war, he wasn't about to let it take Trudy from him too.

And yet, as he watched her dose the afternoon before her surgery, he couldn't help but wonder about the tiny life inside her. Would it look like him, or like her, or a mix of both? Would it be intelligent, or meant for flight, or both, or neither? Would it be a boy or a girl? Norm hoped, of course, that he'd get to learn these things, watch his child grow up and become a person of their own, teach them right from wrong and the right skills and lessons they'd need to have on Pandora; but he couldn't help but feel scared about it, too. Would he make a good dad? So far, he'd been reluctant to even refer to it as 'the baby,' and he'd never even called it 'his kid.' It was just too weird to even think about yet.

"Hey," Trudy mumbled, snapping him out of his thoughts. He smiled at her, patting her arm gently.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he said back, "Welcome back." She frowned.

"It's morning already? How long was I out?"

Norm chuckled, shaking his head. "No, it's three in the afternoon. Geez, Tru, don't take everything so seriously."

"Don't call me _Tru_," she chided, moving her hand slowly off the bed in order to give him a swift jab to the ribs. It might've hurt, if she had been strong enough to do it as hard as she wanted to. The ridiculous nickname was getting on her nerves. "I'm not the answer to a question."

He laughed, and she glared, poking him lightly again. "I'm serious. You call me _Tru_ again, and I'll start calling you..." She paused, a smirk on her lips. "_Norman._"

Norm frowned, his eyebrows coming together. "I haven't gone by Norman since I was a little kid," he protested, "Besides, that's like an anti-nickname, and I don't even consider it my name."

"Well, my name _isn't Tru_," Trudy complained, "Now you know how it feels."

He rolled his eyes, reaching out to run his fingers along her cheekbone. "It's good to have you back, Trudy."

"Good. It better be. So," she said, blinking a few times and staring at the white ceiling, one of the only things to look at in the boring room. "How is the outside world doing?"

Norm rubbed a hand across his eyes, contemplating. "Quite well, actually," he admitted, "Jake came by earlier and told me that we're almost done evacuating the military personnel, and the Na'vi have established a new Hometree about six clicks from here."

Trudy nodded. "That's good."

"Yeah," Norm agreed, the wariness in his voice giving way the fact that not _all _was well on Pandora. "But we've had to bump the death count up to about three hundred Na'vi. Several of the wounded didn't make it through the night, and the rescue operation has just about turned into a body search."

Trudy exhaled through her nose, sighing internally. So much death over a bunch of stupid, shiny rocks... it was unfathomable. "How is Jake handling things?"

Norm shook his head, "He's doing what he can for the People, but it's going to be a long and hard healing process for everyone. He came around earlier when you were asleep because he had a minute to spare while his Avatar body was resting; he told me to tell you he's sorry he couldn't stick around longer, but he had more work to do."

"Tell him I said thanks for visiting," Trudy said after a moment, shaking her head. "No honeymoon for the poor guy, huh? Tough break. Jumping right from getting married or whatever to being the freaking _clan leader_."

They laughed, and after a moment Trudy had to force back a bit of a coughing fit while Norm frantically searched for her cup and water bottle to get her more to drink. She took a few sips once he'd found the supply and poured her some, making sure to drink slowly. Norm was still smiling when she was done, returning the supplies back to their proper places. The morbidity of the outside situation— increasing death count, losing survivors, the tedious rebuilding of a Hometree— was forgotten as the couple grinned at each other.

"But there is some good news," Norm decided, leaning back and relaxing a little once he was sure she had finished her coughing. "Since the Na'vi are peaceful with the humans staying on Pandora, Mo'at agreed to let us reopen Grace's school."

Trudy frowned. "But since Grace is..." She paused, not wanting to say the word _dead_. Because saying it meant that it was real, and she still wasn't sure she really accepted it. After ferrying the determined scientist all over Pandora for six years, it was kind of hard to comprehend the fact that she was gone. She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. "...How's that gonna work?"

Norm grinned again, though there was a hint of sadness behind his eyes that she knew no one else would have noticed. He was hurting, too. Grace had been his friend and mentor, but more than that— she was his _hero_. Grace Augustine was everything Norm strived to be, and now that she was dead, he looked a little lost.

"That's the cool thing! Jake and Neytiri think it'd be a good idea for Max and me to teach English and mathematics, and then one of the Na'vi— Ninat, if I'm not mistaken — will teach their language and culture to the young ones."

The sheer joy on Norm's face at the idea of helping to take over Grace's job was enough to make Trudy want to kiss him until he turned blue from oxygen deprivation, but since she was pretty much immobile, she settled for giving him a deliriously happy smile. "That's amazing, baby," slipped from her lips as she reached out to touch his face. He was excited, barely noticing her acknowledgement and going on to explain the idea.

"Nothing's finalised, of course, but since I'm one of the only people here that are fluent in English and Na'vi, I'll probably be best suited. And Max has a Masters' in specialised mathematics, did you know that? I sure as hell didn't. And the Na'vi learn their lore mostly from song, so that's why Ninat is the best option— she's the clan's best singer. I've heard her. It's freaking _haunting_."

"That's all very well and good, Norm, but—"

"...And of course, the kids will get their hunting training from one of the warriors, but that's just common sense—"

"_Norm_." He stopped his frantic rant to look at her, confused. "I'm glad you're excited," Trudy told him, smiling. "But don't go all crazy on me. It hasn't been finalised yet." Norm's attitude didn't deflate at her reality-check, however. He grinned lazily and starched his arms above his head.

"I know, I know," he grumbled, "But they cool thing is, if we build the school close enough to the Base, the human children would probably be able to attend, too." He had this dreamy expression on his face. "Of course, there are many more Na'vi children than there are human ones, but most of the principal lessons are the same in both cultures; plus, wouldn't it be awesome for our kid to be bilingual? Knowing Na'vi would be an excellent skill to learn, and the brain of a five-year-old can learn like three times as fast as that of a twenty-year-old."

Trudy's eyes lit up. "Our kid?" Hearing Norm say it somehow made it feel more real, like she wasn't just making up play-house fantasies in her head. They were going to have a kid together, and Norm was going to teach it at Grace's old school.

"Well... yeah, our kid. I mean, if everything goes our way," he explained, ears blushing pink. "And of course, the school house itself will need repairs before anything can start, since it's been unmanaged in a Pandora'n forest for over a year..."

Trudy closed her eyes, her mouth stretched in a huge smile. "Good to see you're on board about this, then."

"I never wasn't," Norm said quickly, "I'm sure I'll love this kid, if and when it gets here. But I love you _now_, and I just don't want you to risk yourself for something I can't even _see._" He took her hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissing her palm. "I want us to be a family, Trudy, if that's what you want. But we can't _be_ a family if _you_ are six feet under." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm being negative again, aren't I? I shouldn't have brought it up again..."

"It's okay, Norm," Trudy murmured, already feeling tired again. It seemed her body wanted her to spend most of her time sleeping, nowadays. "I understand. But I want us to be a family." She opened her eyes again, looking at him sadly. "I just wish things could be good again, like they were before."

He nodded, understanding. "I wish things could be good again, too, baby. I wish things could be good again too."


	8. Worries

_**In Your Hands**_

Maybe it was the baby-safe sedative already being filtered into her oxygen mask, but Trudy felt really giggly. Every time Dr. Cornelson said the word _operation_ as he explained the procedure (for the hundredth time) to her, she couldn't help but imagine her nose glowing bright red and making an obnoxious buzzing noise every time someone touched her insides with their tweezers, like the ancient Earth kid's game. Maybe it was just stuck in her head because Max had mentioned once that it'd be fun to make a Na'vi version of the game, with correct anatomy for teaching purposes, but she had to fight to contain her laughter every time the word was mentioned.

"—and then we'll assess the muscle damage and look into a rehabilitation program that suits your particular needs." Trudy yawned. "Take deep breaths, counting back from ten," the doctor instructed, and she did as he said, not that she could exactly disobey. She fell into a calm, buzzing whiteness, her eyes closing and her body relaxing.

"How long will the surgery take?" Norm asked as they wheeled her out of her room and into the hallway, heading towards the OR set up down the hall. Dr. Cornselson waved a nurse in his direction, telling her to answer his questions again, considering he'd been told all this ahead of time.

"The operation could take anywhere from four to seven hours, depending on complications," she explained, lightly touching Norm's arm in a comforting way. "Why don't you go sleep or get something to eat while you wait? She won't be out for a while."

Norm nodded numbly, still nervously tapping his fingers against the side of his leg like he'd been doing since they had first explained everything to him. "You'll page me if anything changes?" he asked, and she nodded.

"You're her official next of kin, considering she doesn't have any family here. Any and all updates go through you first," the nurse assured him, and he nodded, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his trousers.

"Thanks," he mumbled, turning on his heal and stalking out of the wing, heading toward the lab once more. He needed to stay busy, or else his mind would wander and he'd end up being even more nervous and antsy for the next four to seven hours.

Halfway to the lab, however, he was met by Max, who grabbed him by the elbow and led him in the other direction. "I was just about to go meet Jake," he said, pulling his colleague down the hall towards the mess hall. "He wants updates. You might as well come along."

Norm nodded, clearing his throat and tugging his arm from Max's grasp. "Yeah, sure. Trudy's in surgery now, so I've got a few hours to spare."

Max shot him a sympathetic look that Norm tried hard to ignore. Nothing bad was going to happen. Trudy was a fighter and a survivor, and a little dangerous skin-replacement operation wasn't going to change that. Max was a good friend and all, but he didn't know how to comfort anyone very well.

"How's she doing?" he asked, looking up at his tall friend with a sad smile. Norm sighed, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. He still wasn't getting enough sleep.

"Good, as far as I know. They'll page me when they have updates." He seemed reluctant to talk about his injured girlfriend, quickly changing the topic. "How is my Avatar looking?"

Max beamed, opening his mouth and beginning a lengthy explanation of how he'd started repairing the complex Avatar's damage. Norm was glad for the distraction as they walked through the unnaturally silent Base— considering the human population on Pandora had just gone from over four thousand to a little over two hundred, the feeling of emptiness was to be expected— Max's tireless scientific rant was a welcome change.

"—so all we have to do now is give him a long bath in replicated amniotic fluid, and he'll be ready to be reborn in a week or two," Max concluded as they pushed open the doors to the mess hall, where Jake was waiting.

It seemed strange for Norm to see him in his wheelchair, even though that was how he looked when they first met. Things were different now, and he could help but think that Jake's real body was the ten-foot-tall blue one that was asleep in the new Hometree— like he'd been waiting for Pandora for his whole life. Tom hadn't seemed that way, being at home in his human body from the very first time he and Norm met at the training facility. For how similar the two men looked, they really couldn't have been more different.

"Norm! Max!" Jake grinned, raising his hand in greeting. The room was otherwise completely empty, since it was not mealtime and there were many other, more comfortable places to hand around during off-time.

"I got those supplies reports you wanted," Max said, grinning like an idiot as he pulled a data pad from his lab coat's pocket and handed it to Jake. "We've got enough resources here to support the human population for years— I mean, really. There's enough food to last a population of four thousand about fifteen years, and we've only got two hundred or so. You won't have to worry about us for a while."

Jake nodded, seemingly relieved. "That's another thing I don't have to worry about, then," he said, tapping the data pad to confirm Max's estimates, "Since we won't be receiving regular update shipments, I figured we'd run out much sooner... thank goodness for the Jarheads and their huge appetites, I guess."

Norm took a seat beside Max at the long table, staying silent as the two conversed on other Base management issues. He tried to listen and pay attention, but his mind began to wander, wondering what was happening to Trudy. It hadn't even been an hour; they probably had barely even started yet. It wasn't time to worry.

"Hello, Spellman, ya there?" Jake was peering at him closely, a wary look in his eyes.

"Oh. Hem, yeah. Sorry, what did you say?"

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoning out there, Norm? You'd better keep your head on straight if you want to help with the school repairs. I was just telling Max that it's been pretty much overgrown by the wildlife, and will need to be excavated again, and the roof needs rebuilding. When will your Avatar be up and running again?"

"A week or two, right, Max?" Norm asked, looking towards his friend to confirm. Max nodded, paging through another data pad.

"Mm-hm."

"And of course, Trudy will have to start giving flying lessons, as soon as she's up to it," Jake said seriously, causing Norm's head to snap up. "Since she's the only one still here who knows how to fly those things."

"Jake—!" Norm stuttered, his mouth going dry. "She'll be doing no such thing!"

The other two men looked at each other, confused by Norm's outburst. Max mouthed something to Jake, who nodded, reaching out to put a hand on Norm's arm.

"I know you're worried about her, Norm, but she's a big girl," Jake said quietly, patting Norm's arm comfortingly. "Just because she was in one accident doesn't mean she'll be in another one. Once she's all fixed up, don't you think she'll want to fly again?"

Norm pulled his arm away, looking astonished. "You're honestly going to let her fly?" he asked, panicking. "Max, _tell_ me there's some scientific study or something that'll convince her not to? I mean, isn't that _dangerous_?"

"Norm, calm down," Jake tried to soothe, reaching out for his friend again. Norm jumped to his feet.

"No, I will not calm down! Are you _insane_? Risking the life of our baby like that? Isn't altitude detrimental to pregnant women?"

"Wait, _what_?" the other two said in almost perfect unison, their voices sounding positively shocked.

Norm stopped, looking at his open-mouthed colleagues. Jake's eyebrows had disappeared under his shaggy, over-grown hairline and Max's eyes were so wide, they looked like they were bugging out of his head.

"Norm, what are you talking about?" Jake asked, being the first of the two to come to his senses. "Is Trudy... _pregnant_?"

Norm stayed motionless, the gears in his brain turning. "Oh, God. Of _course_ you didn't know, I didn't even know until yesterday!" Norm rambled, shakily sitting back down and running both hand through his hair. "Yes, she's pregnant! I just assumed that you _knew_." He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Jake and Max sat stunned for a moment, looking at each other with identical wide-eyed expressions.

Max snapped out of it, suddenly grinning. "_Way to go_ Norm!" he cheered, smacking his tall friend on the shoulder. "I mean, I knew you and Chacon had a thing going on, but _really_?" He clapped his hands together excitedly. "Congratulations!"

Jake nodded, smiling. "Yeah, dude. Congrats!" He offered Norm a high-five, but the scientist just stared at the raised hand, unmoving. Jake put his hand down slowly, his grin turning into a frown. "This _is_ good news, right?"

Norm sighed, putting his index fingers to his temples and rubbing small circles there. "_Technically_, I guess. But there's always the chance that— I mean, Trudy's really hurt, and—" He sighed again, putting his head in his hands and scrubbing at his unshaven face. "Ugh, I don't even know. I _want _it to be good news, and so does Trudy, but there are _risks_ involved, because of her injuries."

Max patted him gently on the shoulder, giving him those sad eyes again. "I'll pray for you guys," he offered, and Norm smiled, acting like he took comfort in that. He was a scientist, though, and at heart, he wasn't sure what he believed in anymore.

"I'll ask Neytiri to put in a good word with Eywa," Jake said half-jokingly, gently shoving Norm's shoulder to try and snap him out of his suddenly morbid mood. "And I'll cross my fingers. But I guess it's in the doctor's hands now, right?"

"Yeah," Norm agreed quietly.

"I guess we'll have to wait until after the child is born, then, to have the Sampson fleet up and running," Jake concluded, nodding. "That's alright, though. If any of the science teams need transport, I'm sure I could convince a Na'vi to escort them."

Max and Jake quietly continued to talk about the future of the human colony, including chatter about the few human children attending Grace's school, whilst Norm stared deliberately into space, trying to clear his mind of the many nervous thoughts swirling about.

"Hey, Norm?" Jake said some time later, after Max had scurried off to update someone on something. "She's going to be alright. They both are. You know that, don't you?" Norm shrugged, turning to his friend and trying to look unworried. He didn't pull it off.


	9. Friends

_**In Your Hands**_

When Trudy woke up, the first thing she noticed was the lack of pain. Not that there was a complete _absence_ of pain; not at all. There were still twinges from her ankle and the cuts on her legs, but the agony she'd been experiencing since the battle— the feeling of being unable to move without passing out from the sheer volume of it— had diminished to a dull ache. As far as her sedative-clouded mind could tell, her surgery had been a success.

Experimentally, she used her arms to push herself up a little so that she could lean against her pillow. It hurt, but not as much as it would have, if the skin of her back had still been a raw, burned mess. Careful fingers explored the long lines of stitches up her sides, connecting new skin to old— they would leave nasty scars, no doubt, but Trudy would wear each of them with pride.

Norm's sleeping form sat hunched in one of the fold-up hospital chairs, his lanky body curled in an uncomfortable-looking position. For the first time since she had been rescued, she could see his entire face; the paper mask he had before been required to wear in her presence was gone, and she could see how much everything was wearing on him.

His chin was a mess of thin, scraggly beard; he obviously hadn't shaved in days, and it had grown beyond the sexy-scruff to look more caveman-esque, which was _not_ a look Norm could pull off. Under his eyes were dark circles, showcasing how little he'd slept, and his cheeks were hollow-looking underneath the facial hair.

Trudy clicked her tongue. He really needed to take better care of himself. She knew he was worried, and under a lot of pressure, and had just lost several things and people very important to him, but that was no reason for him to be neglecting the things he needed. Like _bathing_. She could practically smell him from across the room.

"Norm?"

He stirred, opening his eyes and stretching his arms behind his back. "Hey," he said, scooting his chair closer to the side of her bed. "Are you supposed to be sitting up? You might want to be careful—"

She waved him off. "I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. I feel fucking _fantastic_, compared to before. I could to back flips." She grinned at him lazily, the sedative still wearing off. "How long as I out?"

"Half a day or so," Norm estimated, stifling a yawn. "The doctors said things went well."

"Yay," she declared facetiously, sliding down in her bed again and snuggling into her blanket. She was warm and content, more or less pain-free, and in the company of the man she had fallen in love with. Considering her circumstances, Trudy's life was really looking up for once.

Norm cracked his knuckles (an awful habit; she would have to train him out of that) and then rotated his neck from one side to the other in an attempt to ease the stress he had put on the tired muscles there by sleeping sitting up again. She made a half-amused, half-concerned face and he shrugged.

"I'm fine," he declared, though she hadn't asked the question. Did he really know her that well?

"I can see that," Trudy replied, reaching out to gently tug on the new growth on his face. "And that's why you've gone all caveman-like." She shook her head, retracting her hand from his face and giving him a poke in the chest. "As a girl, I can appreciate a little manly stubble. But _this_...?" She rolled her eyes. "Is ridiculous."

Norm lightly swatted her hand away, smiling at her. "That's my girl," he said, reaching up to scratch at the beard he had developed. "And you're right. I've just been too busy with all this—" He made a wide motion of his arm. "—to deal with it."

Trudy crossed her arms. "Yeah, well, I'm not kissing you until you shave," she determined, "So you'd better _deal with it_ soon."

The light, playful banter was appreciated by both participants. In light of the war, the casualness of their relationship had been lost— it was all about war, death, the Na'vi, the crash, and now the baby— Trudy had sincerely missed how easy it had been back when they were '_friends falling in love_,' as she had deemed them. The witty little arguments that meant nothing, talking about everything and nothing and joking about things only they thought was funny, sitting on the edge of a floating mountain (a dangerous endeavour) just so that they could enjoy the scenery or watch the sun set behind Polyphemus together... all the little things that made up their quirky romance had been Trudy's favourite part of her day for months.

A knock on the door interrupted their chatter. The door was opened a fraction and Max stuck his head around, smiling like a goofball. "Knock knock," he said, stepping around the door and closing it behind him. "How're you feeling, Trudy?"

"Great, considering," she said, moving to sit up again. Norm grabbed her arm and helped her move, and Max grabbed a chair from against the wall and pulled it to the side of her bed. "Still a little sore, though."

Max chuckled. "Well, that's to be expected, _Little Miss Crash and Burn_." Trudy made a noise of indignation and smacked him on the arm, but he only laughed harder. "I'm joking! So—" He rubbed his hands together and grinned, looking much like the curious scientist he was at heart. "—I hear congratulations are in order!"

Trudy raised her eyebrows, turning to Norm to glare. His ears had turned bright red, and he started nervously rubbing the back of his check.

"You told him?"

"I may have accidentally _implied_—"

"He let it slip while you were in surgery," Max explained, cutting off Norm's strangled and rather _flawed_ account of the events. "He went all righteous on Jake when he suggested that you could teach flying lessons after you felt better; of course, _he_ had no idea of your predicament, but Norm went batshit crazy when it was suggested."

Trudy cocked an eyebrow, looking at Norm to confirm. He had gone rather red in the face and was making his '_please don't yell at me_' face.

"Well," she started, turning back to Max, who was fidgeting slightly in his seat. "That's not _exactly_ how I wanted everyone to find out—" She shot Norm a look, and he bit his lip. "—but yes. Congratulations _are_ in order."

Max clapped his hands together excitedly as was per his habit, his grin practically reaching from ear to ear. He automatically went into a frenzy of questions, most of them being spoken too quickly to be reacted too. ("How far along are you?" "Do you know gender yet?" "Whose last name is it taking?" and "Have you thought about names yet?" were only a few that occurred frequently.) They answered the ones they could honestly, but they really didn't know much to share.

"Geez," Trudy said after a while, shifting to lie back down again as sitting put pressure on her stitches and made her feel uncomfortable. "If I'd known you were coming to interrogate us on everything baby-related, I would have locked the door!"

Max laughed and dropped the subject, instead bringing up the topic of the Na'vi. The discussions on the new Hometree, Jake's new role as clan leader, Grace's school's future repairs and Max's research on Na'vi genetics lasted for quite some time. The three friends laughed and talked about nothing in particular after that, catching up on each other's lives, reminiscing about the past— Grace was mentioned quite frequently, but with positive little stories that they wanted to remember her by— until it was late and Max had to leave.

"I need to check on your Avatar, Norm— come by tomorrow and take a look, if you're up to it. He's getting along very well. Healing more quickly than I estimated," Max said before he left, "And Trudy— be careful with those stitches, would you? The last thing you need is to accidentally pull them out."

"I'll be fine, Max," she groaned, resisting the urge to flip him the bird, "Get outta here and attend to your science stuff!" Max obliged, quietly backing out of the room and fleeing. "And _you_." Trudy turned to Norm with a frown. "Shave. Beard. Now." She pointed towards the door, and then snuggled down into her bed and closed her eyes. "I'm going to sleep again, and when I wake up, you'll be showered, shaved, and well rested." She opened one eye to glare at him, making a motion with her head towards the door again. "Go."

"Yes, ma'am," Norm said sarcastically, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead after he had stood up. Trudy swatted at him, making a noise of disgust at having her skin come in contact with the scraggly hairs on his chin.

"Norm!"

"I'm going, I'm going," he assured her, backing up with both hands raised in front of him. "I'll be there when you wake up."

"You'd better be," she grumbled, closing her eyes again and letting her body relax. Healing was difficult business, after all, and she needed all the rest she could get.


	10. Limits

_Sorry about the slow update on this one; I got an idea that would leave me alone ("Downward Spiral") after rewatching the movie, and I just had to get it out before I lost the idea. I haven't forgotten about this one, don't worry! I have an 'endgame,' so to speak, for this fiction, it's just a matter of figuring out how I'm going to get there... :)_

* * *

_**In Your Hands**_

It took a week of lying dormant in her hospital room— a week of boredom, uncertainty, nausea and fear— but the doctors eventually declared her surgery a complete success. The graft had taken.

Already the cuts on her skin were healing, becoming nothing more than itchy pink lines of new skin; scars that would haunt her for a long time before they faded to the silver of old scars that were so easy to ignore. But when Trudy first saw the lines, she grinned. Battle scars, she decided, were a thing of pride, not sorrow. The two down her sides, the longest ones, hurt every time she moved, as it pulled on her stitches, but even they were slowly healing, new pink skin filling in between the sutures.

On the eighth day after her surgery, when Trudy was just about to declare herself stir crazy (after being active for so much of her life, being put on bed rest was quite the new experience for her), Dr. Cornelson came bearing good news.

"You'll have to take it slow," he reminded her, eying her grin of excitement warily. "But a little walk around the hospital now and then shouldn't hurt."

Trudy was already sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed. It strained her stitches, but she held back the ensuing wince— just in case the doctor noticed and deemed her unready to walk around. Just being able to _move_ again was a great treat; a special privilege she hadn't ever been without before. She had found new understanding to Jake's bitterness over his disability, and his love of his Avatar body. She hadn't been able to walk for a couple weeks and she was ready to kill someone; Jake would never walk in his human body _again_.

"Careful, baby," Norm warned, reaching out to grab her elbows as if she needed help to stand and balance. She rolled her eyes, but let him help her to her feet cautiously. Her knees only buckled slightly before she regained the balance she had always possessed, standing to her full height and pulling her arms free of Norm's grasp.

She turned and grinned at Dr. Cornelson, who had an enthusiastic smile on his own face. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness or nausea?" he asked, a pen poised over her chart and ready to take notes.

Trudy shook her head, experimentally shifting her weight and taking a step forward. "Not really."

"Good, good," he said, jotting down a note. "Take it slow; if you want, we can lend you a wheelchair to use to get around for awhile—"

Trudy held up a hand to shut him up, the painful image of Jake's struggles to move about the Base in his own chair coming to mind. "No, I go it," she said determinedly. "I feel okay."

"Are you sure?" Norm asked quickly, looking like he wanted to push her back down into the bed and not let her move until the stitches were out. He was overprotective that way, and had been antsy ever since the doctor announced that she should be able to get up on her own.

"Yes," Trudy said confidently, crossing the step it took to get closer to him and gently grabbing the front of his shirt. She pulled downward so that he bent to her height and she kissed him, giving him a feather-light peck on the lips. "I'm good."

She let go of his shirt and turned around, taking a few steps away from him and stretching her arms above her head. "I feel like I haven't stood up for years, when it's been less than two weeks!"

"Trudy, be careful," Dr. Cornelson warned, watching her fearfully as she walked across the room and back again, getting her legs back, so to speak. "You don't want to overdo it."

"I'm _fine_," she stressed, glaring at the doctor. "Give me a minute, would you?"

Dr. Cornelson promptly shut his mouth, intimidated by the tone of her voice. He would never admit it, but he had a fear of authority; when Dr. Stevens, the doctor in charge of the medical wing, yelled at him, he would flinch. And Trudy Chacon practically _dripped_ authority, though she actually had none at the moment. While she was grounded, Trudy had no authority whatsoever, but she acted like she did, and that was enough to terrify the poor doctor.

Trudy walked around a bit, gently testing her fragile body and seeing how far she could push it. It was a marine habit, she supposed, always trying to push the limits of herself. And though she was cautious as she tested the strength of her stitches by twisting her body back and forth, she didn't stop immediately when she felt pain. She kept going, fuelled on by the belief that endurance was _everything_. A belief that she had gotten from her time in the marines, but one that she would keep forever.

"_Trudy_..." Norm practically whined, his antsy behaviour getting worse with every stretch and twist. "You're going to hurt yourself." He reached out and grabbed her arm, making her momentarily pause.

"No, I'm not," she said matter-of-factly, her voice steely and cold. "I know my limits, Norm. If I need to stop, I will." She pulled her arm out of his grasp and continued to walk about the room, systematically checking herself for injury, assessing the pain and keeping her facial expression neutral.

"I want to go for a walk," she declared, turning to her doctor and giving him an eager smile. "Can I?"

Dr. Cornelson nodded submissively, and Trudy grinned. "Can I have some more appropriate clothes to do it in? Because I don't want to have to hold this gown closed the whole time," she explained, gesturing to her attire. Norm quickly moved to the over-night bag he had packed for her after he had fixed himself up and pulled out a pair of pyjama bottoms, tossing them to her.

"Thanks," she acknowledged, catching the pants and sitting back down on her hospital bed. She carefully pulled one leg and then the other through the leg holes, and then stood again to pull them over her bottom. Both men had turned and averted their gaze while she did so— even though she was wearing underwear under that gown, _thank you very much_.

"Geez, Norm, it's nothing you've never seen before," she joked, smiling at the way his ears and neck turned red as she blushed sheepishly. The guy was so old-fashioned it was rather humorous, still embarrassed over the fact that they'd had sex even _after_ she'd announced her pregnancy. How did he think everyone thought she got pregnant? They hadn't mixed their baby together in a test tube, after all.

Dr. Cornelson cleared his throat and gestured to the door. "Only one lap around the wing should be sufficient, I think," he suggested, "You can try again tomorrow, but we don't want to overdo it today."

"Yeah, yeah," Trudy half-agreed, taking Norm's offered arm as he led her cautiously to the door. "Not overdoing it. Got it."

Norm was sincerely worried. She had that same look in her eyes that Jake had the first time he had linked with his Avatar. That look freaked him out, because he remembered what Jake had done— he had run off and endangered himself without considering the fact that he may not be ready. And while it had worked out for Jake, his Avatar body had been strong and healthy and was able to take the sudden strain. He was afraid because he knew that Trudy's body wasn't as strong or as healthy, and might not be able to.

"Slowly," he encouraged as he led her almost painfully slowly out of the room. She tried to pull him to go faster, but he kept his grip on her arm and refused to move at the pace she wanted. "Trudy, you can't just go from being injured to running in circles. You're not strong enough. Don't push it."

Trudy sighed and let herself be led by him around the corner and down the hall. It felt good to be walking again, to be _moving_, but she couldn't help but feel trapped again. Trapped by her inability to go faster, to run, to _really _move. She stopped, and Norm stopped with her, giving her a concerned look.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the fear coming through in his voice. Trudy stared forward, unmoving.

_Come on_, she thought, _let go_.

"Trudy?"

He planned to let go of her arm and move around to face her. He planned to look into her eyes and perhaps see pain there and have to call the doctor to put her back in her room. He planned to have her stay standing still when he let go, because he thought she had stopped because she didn't want to move anymore, that she was in pain or feeling sick or something. Plans never really work out do they?

The moment his fingers released her arm from the tight grip he had been holding, she bolted. He was literally too stunned to react, or he might have grabbed for her. Instead, he stood dumbfounded for a moment as she danced out of his range and ran down the hall, laughing like a crazy woman.

"Trudy!" he bellowed, his brain catching up with his body as he chased after her. "Trudy, _stop_!"

But Trudy was a marine. A marine who had been trained to push her body to its limits. A marine who had been trained to have a high tolerance for pain, so much so that she didn't realise the signals her body was sending her as she ran down the hall, her body screaming in protest, though she didn't hear it.

But when you push things to their limits, and they can't take any more, something's got to give.

Norm was barely fast enough to catch her as she fell, her laughter turned to sudden silence. He managed to grab her before she hit the ground, quickly pulling her to his chest and yelling for help. The soft trickle of blood was all he saw as it spread over one side of her hospital gown. She had passed out.


	11. Ideas

_Sorry about the slow update on this one; I haven't forgotten about this story, I promise!_

* * *

_**In Your Hands**_

* * *

_It was only two stitches,_ Trudy thought ruefully. Why was everyone freaking out over two little stitches? True, it had hurt a hell of a lot more than she thought it would, but still— it was only two stitches!

Norm was more disappointed in her than anything, and that kind of broke her heart. No matter how many times she apologised, tried to explain herself, and promised never to do it again, he kept giving her these sad, _disappointed_ eyes. It made her feel rather ashamed of her actions, actually, having him look at her like that; she missed the admiration he used to have in his gaze when he looked at her.

The doctors insisted that she would need a wheelchair to get around for a few weeks, to diminish the risk of further injury. Normally, Trudy would have scoffed and gotten up to walk anyway; but instead, she meekly nodded and accepted the cumbersome device. By the end of her first day of using it, she had a new appreciation for Jake; the stupid thing took almost all her upper body strength to use, and she was doubly tired than she would have been by the end of the day.

She fell asleep so easily these days, and while she suspected chemical help— even pregnancy-safe painkillers will do that to ya— it felt nice to be able to get a whole ten hours' rest. Nights for her had been restless since she had been a teenager, always tossing and turning, never getting the entire time she allowed herself to lie in bed for sleep.

A week passed like this, and her stitches held. The skin graft had taken nicely, and her other injuries were almost completely healed. It had been three weeks since the initial crash. It felt like a year had gone by since she felt the clutches of death around her heart.

"When can I move back to my quarters?" she asked the doctor when he came by to give her breakfast. She'd been lucky to experience only mild morning sickness so far, but she barely ate anything the doctor offered her that that day because the nausea was finally getting to her. She was glad to have the normal symptoms of pregnancy, though; that meant things were normal. She was getting better, slowly but surely.

"You won't be able to have a room to yourself for quite a while, unfortunately," Dr. Cornelson told her, looking sympathetic. "Your condition needs to be constantly monitored, since this is such a unique situation."

She groaned and rubbed a hand over her eyes. She just wanted to be back in her bunk to sleep away the aches and pains. She missed her room, tiny and crowded as it was. She even missed the sound of her roommate's snoring from the top bunk.

"Why can't Turner monitor me? She's my roommate, and—"

"Rose Turner is still missing after the battle," Cornelson informed her quietly. "And is presumed dead, as far as I'm aware. I'm sorry."

Trudy swallowed. She didn't know the status of most of her friends. She still couldn't think of Grace as dead, let alone anyone else she'd become close to. Rose's snoring had lulled her to sleep every night for years. They'd stayed up together playing cards late into the night when insomnia took over. She'd been the first person to teach Trudy how to play Solitaire.

"In addition," the doctor continued, snapping her out of her reverie, "All sleeping arrangements have been reassigned because of the... _downsize_ in human population. Surely you didn't think you'd have to sleep in the barracks anymore? Not with all of the officers' quarters abandoned. You'll probably be assigned a room in the executive wing eventually. They're still sorting out arrangements, I believe, moving people around."

"Right, of course," Trudy murmured, considering the idea.

The executive wing? Trudy couldn't even imagine. There were rumours, of course, about what the executive's quarters looked like; single rooms with attached living space, personal bathrooms and kitchens— like mini-apartments, some of the marines would gossip. Her own quarters had been a five-foot-by-nine-foot box she'd shared with Rose, which barely fit a bunk bed and two dressers where they kept their things. Two fold-up chairs took up the remaining room when they wanted to play cards, and they'd overturn a box for a table. It was cramped, but it worked for them.

"They might give you and Dr. Spellman family quarters, if you request it," Dr. Cornelson added as he scrawled something in her chart. "I'd be alright with having you out of the hospital wing if Dr. Spellman agreed to monitor you through the night and give me updates on your condition."

Trudy perked up a little. "Family quarters?"

"I figured it would be appropriate, since you plan on welcoming a new little life to the base within the next seven months or so," the doctor explained.

"I'll have to ask about that the next time he stops by," Trudy mused aloud, for the doctor's benefit more than her own.

She knew, theoretically, that the few married couples on the base had special quarters to allow joint space, and that there were other families raising children on Pandora. She hadn't stopped to consider that she and Norm would gain those same privileges now that they were going to be raising a family— if that was what Norm wanted.

She hadn't considered the option of _living_ with Norm before. Maybe he hadn't either. It sounded nice, though, the idea of it.

"If living arrangements are prepared to my liking, you could be out of here by the end of the week, Ms. Chacon," Dr. Cornelson agreed.

"And then I wouldn't have _you_ breathing down my neck all day," she joked in return. He didn't smile so much as quirk his mouth up in the corners in acknowledgement, but it made her feel a little better anyway. More like herself, at least.

* * *

By the time Nurse Simmons brought Trudy her lunch, she had grown restless. Norm had been visiting her less and less frequently since her little 'outburst' the week before, but he usually was there for mealtimes, at least. Instead she ate her lunch with the nurse, whose first name was Natalia and was surprisingly not-boring for medical personnel. They joked and gossiped, and it reminded Trudy vaguely of eating lunch with her marine buddies; most of them were on their way back to Earth, now, having presented their loyalties with the RDA.

They went through almost the entire meal, which consisted of semi-decent ravioli and vegetables, before Natalia mentioned Norm.

"Doesn't Dr. Spellman usually drop by around lunchtime?" she asked as she stabbed her last ravioli with her plastic fork viciously, as though it had done her some personal injustice. She was high-spirited, and reminded Trudy almost of a younger version of herself.

"Usually," Trudy conceded, "But with all the work being done to get the school up and running, I'm sure he's just really busy, y'know?"

Natalia rolled her eyes and made a face that clearly said that she wasn't buying it. Trudy sighed.

"Or, y'know, he could still be mad at me for overdoing it before," she grumbled as she poked at the overcooked vegetables on her tray. She wasn't very hungry, even after practically skipping breakfast. "Things have been kinda tense."

"I noticed," Natalia said, putting aside her tray and stretching her arms above her head. "I didn't want to say anything, but he's been rather distant. Before he was here twenty-four-seven, and now he's... not."

Trudy nodded sullenly and began pushing the wilted veggies around her plate absently. "I know. He's pissed at me, and it sucks more than I thought it would."

Natalia smiled softly. "I know it's not my place to say, but I think you two should really have a long talk about what you want. It just seems to me that you're getting your signals crossed somewhere in the middle."

"I want to marry him," Trudy said suddenly, groaning and flopping back onto her pillows. "Well, mostly I just want to keep him forever, but I figure the only way to do that would be to marry him. I want to have his kid and I want to raise it together. I... want to be a family. And I have no idea _why_."

A chuckle escaped the young nurse, and she patted Trudy on the arm. "It's called _maternal instinct_," she laughed quietly, playfully bumping Trudy's arm with her own. "I'm sure it'll kick in for me once I'm in love and ready to start making babies."

"I didn't even want to be a mom in the first place, but now it's _all_ I think about," Trudy confided in her new friend seriously.

"You're going to be a great mom," Natalia told her seriously. "And with Dr. Spellman's genes? That kid of yours is going to be awesome. Smart like him, strong and brave like you, good-looking like the both of you. It's a winning combination of DNA."

Trudy smiled, trying to imagine what their son or daughter might look like. "I hope they get Norm's eyes," she said, "And my bone structure. But Norm's height."

Natalia laughed. "I've got to get back to work," she said, scooping up their lunch trays as Trudy sat up on her elbows, looking disappointed. "Don't give me a sad face! I have a job to do. Read your book," she chastised, pointing to the old paperback novel sitting at Trudy's bedside. Max had leant it to her to pass the time, but she hadn't yet touched the antique pages.

"Fine, fine, I will," Trudy groaned, reaching over and snatching up the book. It was heavy in her hands, so different from a data pad. She leafed through the pages, enamoured by the sound the paper made as it moved.

She turned to the first page carefully, not wanting the damage the delicate pages. It was an old book and probably a collector's item, knowing Max. Having nothing else to do, she kept her promise to Max and Natalia and started to read all about Potter and a Philosopher's Stone.


End file.
